The Snatchers of Yahar'Gul
by Makir
Summary: Terrifying snatchers, conspiracies and ancient rituals...The great tragedy of the village of Yahar'Gul. (An homage to one of my favourite areas in the game.)


There they are, the snatchers of Yahar'Gul: tall as slim as trees, pale as corpses. Long, stretching arms that slide under the black robes. They hide their bodies under cloaks that hides them in the shadows, and slowly they walk around the streets of the village of Yahar'Gul. One turned around to face the quiet buildings. Tonight was the night of the Ritual, and the Hunt.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The snatcher walked towards the window, snapped back its arm and punched the door with its inhuman strength. One, two, three. The door broke in pieces and the snatcher walked barefoot in the wooden debris. Blood trickled down their feet, but it didn't react. In their field of vision, a quivering, terrified male sat on the ground, holding in trembled hands a large blunderbuss at the snatcher.

It tried to drag itself back, legs limping at his front as various spikes of blood were slashed on his wounds.

The snatcher found it curious. A specimen managed to grow shards of blood gems in its legs while the rest of his body was still alive. Not that it mattered, all that the people of that village were was fodder for the Ritual. The Ritual of Mensis. Outside the village beasts may roam freely, hunting for blood, they thought they were safe in that hidden place, a place no beast could just wander in.

The scared villager started to breathe erratically and pressed the trigger. The bullets flew over to the snatcher and hit him in the chest, blood sputtered as the bullets dug into the flesh and tore the cloak at the chest. But he did not stagger, he stepped forward, letting out a sound similar to that of a hiss. The villager let out a scream as a punch came its way, bashing it on the arm and smashing the bone to pieces. The elbow dislocated to the side and threatened to be tore off entirely.

The snatcher folded his hand into a fist again, wanting to bash the villager's head in, but...No. They had to be in acceptable conditions for the Ritual. Everyone had to take part. No exceptions. He punched the blunderbuss and broke it in two, before bashing the villager on the head with the heavy sack slung over his shoulder.

Black out.

The corpses of the dead and living alike were stashed onto cells, left to rot and writhe until the moment of the ritual would arrive. Blood spattered the walls, dripping down, slowly, painfully…

But they weren't enough. They weren't enough, the snatchers thought. Some ventured beyond the unseen village to the woods, digging up fresh mass graves of the ones mauled and murdered by the beasts and hastily buried by what few remained. Some even ventured to the labyrinths and catacombs below Yharnam, where corpses of the Pthumerians lined the walls and ground. Anything would have sufficed to create their very own God. They should thank them, they were going to make those lifeless corpses reborn and have a grander purpose than they could ever imagine.

But who were the snatchers? Humans twisted by arcane magic? Surviving Pthumerians that pledged alliance to the School of Mensis? Nobody knew, and everyone that even remotely threatened them was soon added to the pile of bodies.

Soon after, the village was silent, empty, except for the few snatchers that roamed around, waiting, pondering…

When the Hunter entered the village after doing their job and killing the spider that laid under the lake of Byrgenwerth it was too late. The red moon hung above the sky. It looked so big, grand….fake, like a great illusion, like the result of a nightmare.

Bells rang out in the centre of the village, four small bells. The Hunter wandered around, and noticed the corpses of the snatchers that laid around, hugging the walls, lifeless. The giant lesser Amygdalas crawled on top of the tall buildings, staring down at the Hunter with murderous intent. Beasts, humanoid and not, scurried around the streets in search for fresh blood.

With the Hunter's Axe in hand and wearing the Hunter's Armor they braved along the lost village, slashing and tearing the beasts in half.

They rushed through the hordes of beasts and quickly grabbed a blood vial, sticking it into their thigh. The wounds started to quickly, nay, instantaneously heal as the healing blood rushed through their veins.

They were just a few inches away from the centre of the city...just….a bit more…

"Haah….Haah." They took quick breaths and stopped, surely the horde wouldn't follow them outside of the village…

 _Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding._

The Hunter looked up, several hooded women holding up bells stood on top of two buildings on opposite ends of the wide road. Those women, the Hunter learned, could somehow summon blood copies of creatures with their bells...But this felt….different.

A hole, a great hole tore open the sky and blood started ripping down like the gushing wound of reality itself. Something big, monstrous and bloody started to wriggle out of the hole like a worm, a gigantic worm. The being, at a glance, seemed one...But it was actually a gigantic conglomerate of countless writhing, reddened bodies stuck and fused together, forming a somewhat humanoid shape, with its 'arms' made of nothing more but bodies that held onto each other. Its lower body a wriggling mass of dozens upon dozens of corpses that should have been dead, but yet lived, they were held together by a terrifying arcane curse. They cried and moaned in pain, countless voices screaming and crying.

"The One Reborn…The One Reborn..." The Chime Maidens chanted as they kept ringing their bells.


End file.
